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INK  IN  BLOOM 


By 


Augusta    ftautz 


San  Diego,  California,  19O2 
Press  of  BaKer  Bros. 


Copyrighted,  I9O2,  by  Augusta  t^autz, 
San  Diego,    Cat. 


InK  X*  In  Bloom 


The  darkness  has  fallen  o'er  the  windows  ot  night, 
The  stars  are  all  lit,  and  the  moon  burns  bright, 

But  one  pallid  cloud  broods  beside  it,  alone, 
Like  a  lone  kindred  left  at  the  old  hearthstone. 

The  fireflies  are  falling  like  th'  drip,  drip  of  flame 
That  flashes  and  flies  past  the  dark  window  frame, 

The  croon  of  the  frogs  and  the  buoy  on  the  bay 
Float  off  in  the  dark,  to  the  offing  of  day. 

When  night's  sable  curtain  o'ershadows  the  blue, 
And  darkness  is  wall'wing  the  dew-dampness  through, 

Heart-longings  go  wand'ring  like  wraiths  gone  astray, 
They  wander  and  wander  in  darkness  away. 


frrr 

'Tis  when  earth's  moans  and  murmurings 

Spin  webs  across  my  sun, 
And  all  my  stars  the  clouds  enshroud — 

My  sky  a  vaulted  tomb — 
That  care-torn  waves  of  plaint  cry  loud 

With  wailings  of  my  doom — 
Yet,  Nature,  then  makes  glad,  and  brings 

Such  peace  as  sorrows  shun. 
For  cheer  is  precious  gift  of  hers 

To  all  her  worshipers. 

101998 


Tte  TOinfer  Night 

The  moonbeams  seep  through  hapless  boughs. 

The  wind,  the  fallow  snow-fields  plows. 
White,  weftless,  warpless  garments  wrap 

'Bout  flowers  asleep  in  Nature's  lap. 
Each  hill  sleeps  'neath  a  tented  roof 

Of  an  unwoven,  threadless  woof. 
Each  bush  beneath  its  white  robe  bows 

Like  brides  at  altars  whisp'ring  vows. 
And  over  wood  and  over  wold, 

There  drips  the  winter's  stinging  cold, 
Uncrumpled  leaves,  all  fresh  and  new 

Will  rustle  where  the  moon  peeps  through. 
Though  Spring's  warm  breathing  may  come  late, 

Yet,  all  "things  come  if  but  we  wait." 
Each  spring,  the  proudest  bush  lifts  up  its  roses  high, 

Then  scatters  them,  all  withered  'bout  its  feet, 
Where  shadows  dark,  like  purple  garments  lie — 

And  yet,  the  year  remembers  spring  was  sweet. 

BB  Still  anxl  TOsti 

Each  winter  waits  its  nestling  snow, 

Each  spring  its  daffodils. 
Then  wait,  wait,  wait,  and  you  shall  know, 

What  fate  thy  future  wills. 

The  skylark  waits  its  strength'ned  wings, 

But  waiting,  waiting,  sings. 
Waiting  answers  wonderings; 

Naught  else  an  answer  brings. 

Then  wait,  wait,  wait,  for  sorrow  grows 

Into  a  happiness. 

But  wait,  wait,  wait  for  no  one  knows 
Which  curse  holds  blessedness. 
4 


in  GMifnrnra 

Tonight,  while  the  day  lifts  her  bright  golden  sail, 
And  away  in  the  darkness  of  evening  drifts; 

Mem'ry  bears  me  away  to  an  old  ranch  kraal, 

Where  a  plane-tree  the  shade  and  the  sunshine  sifts 

In  a  checkered  design  of  wierd  shadow  and  fire 
On  the  old  tule  thatch  of  my  dun-brown  byre. 

There  hope  rose  from  the  depths  of  life's  floundering  sea, 
But  outrode  it  like  billows  that  die  on  the  shore. 

I  have  sipped  all  there  is,  in  a  hope's  minstrelsy — 
For  she  sang  with  the  birds  on  the  trees  by  my  door, 

And  she  danced  with  the  shadows  all  edged  with  fire, 
That  fell  on  the  thatch  of  my  dun-brown  byre. 

But  sometimes  I  think  'twas  a  wraith  that  was  there, 
Who  enchanted  the  ranch  and  the  plane-tree  grove — 

For  though  sunshine  and  shadow  I  find  ev'ry  where; 
Yet,  I  never  have  found  an  enchantment  that  wove 

Such  designs,  as  fell  dripping  their  darkness  and  fire 
On  the  old.  tule  thatch  of  my  dun-brown  byre. 


A  veil  of  sunset  light  is  on  her  head, 
Her  life  is  raveled  and  worn, 
Her  life  is  tangled  and  torn, 
And  yet,  her  face,  God's  sun  hath  hallowed. 
Oh,  if  the  right  word  had  been  said, 
Her  heart  had  let  the  sunshine  in, 
And  on  her  soul  that  halo  been — 
Had  her  sad  heart  been  comforted! 


•Matures  ^irtixrBd  V 0Btns  xrf 

Oh,  blessed  hope!     Breath  from  afar  hills  blown! 
Oh,  speed  on  heaven's  swift-steeded  ray, 
And  on  my  brow  thy  soothing  finger  lay, 
And  breathe  thy  benediction! 

Thou  mak'st  along  the  arid  desert  way — 
In  fair  mirage,  the  cooling  fountains  play. 
Warm  castles  haunt  the  Arctic  atmosphere 
In  lavish  benediction. 

Dear  hope,  o'er  heaven's  threshold  blown! 
Thou  writ'st  poems  ev'ry  where, 
On  desert  sand  and  on  the  air. 
Thou  truth  in  fiction! 


grarisible 

If  ev'ry  mind  its  noblest  thought 

Laid  on  the  altar  of  the  age, 
To  coming  minds,  the  years  would  bring 

A  noble  heritage. 

Eternal  destiny  has  he, 

Who  shall  bequeath  a  thought  to  men, 
That's  destined  in  their  life  to  be 

Resanctified  again. 

Oh,  inspired  thoughts!     Oh,  doves  that  seek 
Safe  shelter  where  life's  bleak  sea  rolls 

May  thy  feet  rest  where  Truth  shall  speak 
To  consecrated  souls! 


Like  a  tired  child,  I'll  climb  for  rest, 

In  Nature's  lap, 
And  lay  my  head  on  her  fond  breast, 

To  take  my  nap. 

Still  praying,  that  as  earth  grows  dark, 
And  Death  shall  launch  my  spirit  bark 

Beyond  earth's  chasm-rim, 

My  stars  may  not  be  dim. 


Oh,  Youth,  why  haunt  my  thoughts  again? 

Think  you  there  is  a  joy  in  pain? 
That  you  come,  mocking  me  with  how 

My  life  sums  up  this  wretched  Now? 

Like  shadows  dark  which  cresting  waves 
Are  burying  deep  in  ocean  graves, 

Are  hopes  we  spill  beneath  life's  tide — 
They  sink  down  caverns  deep  and  wide, 

Where  each  new  hope  adds  more  new  wails, 
And  one  more  dead,  which  sea-wrack  veils. 

Oh  youth,  why  haunt  my  thoughts  again? 

Life's  evening  hour  is  on  the  wane; 
Scant  sun  lies  'long  life's  western  wall 

Where  shadowy  phantoms  thickly  fall. 
An  evening's  calm  comes  e're  night's  gray 

Shuts  domelike  o'er  the  closing  day. 
So,  let  peace  sing  my  lullaby 

Of  rest,  till  hushed  in  sleep  I  lie. 


Tis 

Oh,  learn  to  love  age's  chain  and  fetter, 
Nor  reach  with  yearning  hands  for  youth 

And  freedom — For  we  know  how  better 
It  is,  to  brave  our  weight  of  ruth, 

Than  fetter  youth  with  age's  years. 

For  youth's  not  youth,  that  knows  life's  tears. 


for  Traditions 

Like  children  in  the  dark  we  stand, 

And  cry  for  truth  to  light  us. 
And  blindly  grope  with  outstretched  hand, 

And  feel  some  touch  will  right  us. 

E'en  though  life's  shadows  have  grown  long, 

Tradition's  specters  haunt  us; 
We  trembling  say  that  truth  is  wrong, 

So  do  the  specters  daunt  us. 

We  send  our  soul  into  the  dark, 
For  truths  for  which  we're  yearning, 

The  spectral  shapes  loom  stern  and  stark — 
Our  soul  in  fright  returning. 

Like  children  crying  in  the  night, 

In  doubt  if  there's  a  morning, 
We  turn  our  faces  from  the  light, 

At  old  tradition's  warning. 

Truth's  hand,  sometime,  will  overthrow 

Tradition's  awful  power, 
And  heal  our  fears  with  balm,  and  then, 

To  life  will  come  her  dower. 


8 


T0  g.  or. 

Poet  lips,  all  aflame  with  ineffable  fire, 
With  burning  that  cleanses  the  earthy  entire, 
And  even  makes  sanctities  purer  when  tossed 
Into  the  holocaust. 


Tte  WmxPs  gmjuirg 

Beneath  their  cloudy  coverlets 

The  stars  lie  dreaming. 
The  wind  complains,  "Not  yet?  not  yet? 

Are  night  stars  gleaming? 
Then,  mountains  ask,  if  they  forget 

To  be  a-beaming, 
That  'neath  their  cloudy  coverlet 

They  lie  a-dreaming?" 


I  know,  'twill  not  be  I,  you  lay  to  rest, 

In  that  unsightly  yawn  of  earth; 
And  if  I  knew  much  love  would  be 

A  standing  there,  up  close,  by  me, 
I  would  not  dread  the  grave's  cold  dearth, 

But,  as  a  child,  for  sleep  undressed, 
Kneels  down  by  mother  then,  and  prays, 

Nor  trembles,  while  by  him  she  stays — 
But,  when  she  bears  the  light  away, 

He  peers  into  the  dark,  and  weeps — 
Yet,  sinking  on  his  pillow,  sleeps; 

So,  though  I'll  sleep  and  make  no  moan, 
I  dread  to  be  left  thus,  alone. 


You  may  not  care  to  read  my  rhymes  today; 
But  sometime,  you  who  knew  me  well, 
Will  gather  round  the  hearth  and  tell 
Of  a  simple  soul,  whose  grief-taught  lips  would  say 
These  rhymes,  and  I  shall  seem  to  linger  nigh 

Your  hearthstone's  glow, 
As  past  the  frosted  ^windows  fly, 
The  driven  snow. 

I  sing  my  rhymes  for  love's  sweet  sake. 
I  sing — if  be,  'tis  well  or  ill, 
I  sing  my  yearning  heart  to  still. 
I  sing,  or  but,  my  lonely  heart  would  break. 
My  songs  you  will  remember,  by  and  by, 

And  say  them  o'er — 
When  snowflakes  from  the  tempests  fly 
A-past  your  door, 

And  think  you  hear  my  voice,  above  the  blast 
Repeating  some  old  stanza,  till 
For  you — so  rapt — the  storm  is  still — 
Then,  you  rememb'ring  all  again,  at  last, 

Will  hear  gusts,  like  ill  omened  birds  of  bane, 

Go  flapping  by 

A-past  the  frost-furred  window  pane 
With  lonely  cry. 


i  o 


TOmxl  Btorortlf  TOter*  it 


Whence  comes  the  kindling  torch  that  fires 
Our  hearts,  or  whither  does  it  go? 

It  comes  not  at  our  wills'  desires, 
It  conies  as  tempest,  or  comes  still, 

And  flees  e're  we  its  face  can  know. 
But  where  abides  the  impulse  strong 

That  guides  the  unseen  flight  along? 


Thou  child  of  sorrow,  take  thy  rest! 

Nothing  disturbs  thee  here. 
Fate  gave  thee  ev'ry  pang  in  life, 

Grief  gave  her  all — a  tear. 

Fond  Pity  gave  her  all — a  hope, 
That  gift  of  heavenly  breath. 

And  Life  gave  best  of  all  she  had 
In  giving — rest  of  death. 

So  child  of  sorrow,  take  thy  rest! 

Nothing  disturbs  thee  here, 
Life,  Pity,  Grief,  gave  you  their  best 

In  death,  and  hope,  and  tear. 


i  i 


Had  the  earth  been  barren  of  blossom  r 
Could  we  have  dreamed  a  flower? 

Ev'ry  soul  is  a  wand  whose  secret  power 
Can  reveal  golden  treasure  still  unmined. 
Feed  its  lamp  for  a  light  and  you  will  find, 
E'en  the  heart  of  the  May  day  speaks  to  you, 
And  out  of  its  bosom  comes  message  true. 
And  your  garden  of  tears  will  burst  in  bloom, 
And  brighten  the  dearth  of  earth's  bleak  gloom. 
And  then,  'neath  the  drip  of  the  silv'ry  rain 
Of  heaven,  they  will  break  into  bloom  again, 
And  nurtured  there,  they  will  be,  I  deem, 
More  beautiful  far,  than  which  we  dream. 


TOterf 

Fancy  life's  labor  closed,  and  Azrael  nigh. 
Death  has  opened  the  coffer  where  records  lie. 
At  the  wide,  open  lid  we  calmly  kneel — 
Nor  the  omen-like  hush  tells  woe  or  weal. 
'Mong  the  scant,  stored  things,  we  find  but  deeds, 
Thoughts  and  words,  and  our  aims,  themselves  the  seeds 
For  our  undying,  endless,  heav'nly  fields — 
Being  records  of  what  life's  harvest  yields. 


Oh,  may  I  be 

Upheld  by  the  unseen  strands  of  thought 
To  the  soul  of  the  holiest  things. 
To  the  Presence  that  straights  what  error  wrought, 
And  out  of  all  discord,  concord  brings, 
And  breathes  on  the  spirit  a  breath  of  life, 
The  life  of  an  ever-living  soul — 
Not  laving  its  brim  with  achieved  desire, 
But  incense,  that  rises  high,  and  higher 
Against  all  the  stress  of  storm  and  strife, 
Not  ideals  revived  to  overroll; 
But  grander  aspirings,  for  outlived  soul. 
Not  rest,  but  a  broad'ning  growth  each  hour. 
If  tip  of  the  finger  touch  the  flower, 
Why  wish  for  its  fragile  form  to  grasp, 
For  all  that  is  high  has  touch,  not  clasp. 
And  eternity  means  but  breadth  and  wings, 
Devoid  of  the  altar,  creeds  and  things. 


Trr 

Oh  Mem'ry,  angel  of  backward  look! 
Will  Time  soon  clasp  thy  echoing  book? 
When  leethed  in  thy  own  gray  grave, 
Has  Death  a  rescuing  power  to  save? 
But,  what  of  God  on  earth  I  see 
Gives  me  new  trust  in  what  shall  be. 
My  lyre  with  faith's  fair  hope  resounds; 
.For  love,  in  that  far  land  abounds. 
I  may  not  life's  full  strain  attain, 
Yet,  sometime,  sing  the  whole  refrain. 


Oh  soul,  if  thou  my  joy  would'st  know,. 

Go  dip  from  silv'ry  seas  of  dreams, 
Its  liquid  moonlight  glowr 

And  tip  my  pen  with  fairest  beams 
And  I  will  write  it  sot 

Oh,  soul  untamed,  dost  thon  forget 

All  those  grand,  tinkling  words  secrete 

$fo  rhyme  has  girdled  yet? 

Oh,  tip  my  pen  with  those  words  sweet. 

And  I  will  write  them  yet! 

Whatever  'tis  hints  to  sweetest  June 
Secrets  that  make  us  love  her  so — 

This  time  so  opportune, 

Oh,  dip  my  pen  in  overflow 

Of  molten  charms  of  June! 


Sxrrrmus 

If  orer  thy  life  the  shadows  creep, 
Draw  furrows  deep  within  thy  pain, 

And  plant  the  seeds  of  love  therein; 
Thy  harvest,  needy  ones  will  reapr 

A.nd  plant  the  surplus  o'er  again. 

However  many  garnered  sheaves 
Thy  harvest  yields — or  frequently, 

Rank  aftermath  springs  up  again. 
Thy  grief  its  nourisher  will  be, 

Transmuting  all  thy  pain  to  love 
Transcending  earth  Ts— and  which  conceives 

The  joy  and  peace  of  heaven  above. 


Today  I  will  be  free 

As  waves  upon  the  sea, — 

As  wide-winged  pelican. 
Today  my  soul  shall  wander  where  its  cares, 
Shall,  dreaming,  soar  above  entangling  snares- 
Above  where  lengthening  shadows  chase 

The  light  away — to  where 

My  purest  instincts  dare 

Stand  face  to  face  with  God,  and  kneeling  down 
Ask  benediction,  while  deserving  frown. 


Tte  Skglark 

Is  earth  deluged  by  a  symphony's  borning  cry? 
Or  are  stars  of  high  heaven  o'erflowing  with  song, 
That  is  melting  in  tinsely  glow  of  the  sky 
Where  the  day  lies  a-tremble  of  melody? 

No,  skylark,  while  dreaming  thou  sing'st  thy  dream! 
Is  it  love  draws  thee  skyward,  or  wouldst  thou  fain 
Flee  the  tragical  bondage  of  duties  that  seem 
Fate,  that  binds  thee  to  earth  by  no  love's  silv'ry  chain? 

I  would  call  upon  death  with  caresses,  I  own, 
If  'twould  be,  that  my  soul  winged  with  thy  esctasy. 
I  would  rise  to  the  sky.     Nest  of  fledglings  I've  none, 
And  nothing  to  hold  me  from  futurity. 

As  I  listen  thy  rapture,  the  bliss  in  thy  strain 
Lifts  my  soul  far  above  earthy  tumult  and  care, 
I  am  heeding  no  longer  life's  turbulent  main, 
Whose  surf  is  the  human's  wild,  tossing  despair. 


Snngs 

The  prophet's  harp  has  long  been  dumb: 
But  to  some  poet  there  will  come 
Diviner  songs,  which  souls  shall  hear, 
And  garner  up  as  treasures  dear. 
Like  laden  boughs  will  bend  to  bear 
Full  share  of  burd'ning  manna  there, 
That  weary  ones,  who  hunger  plead, 
May  feed  on  spirit  food  they  need. 
Oh,  haste  the  day,  when  hope  shall  spring 
From  out  some  poet's  minstreling. 


End  Nature 

Soul  of  Nature!     Airy  splendor! 

Unseen,  yet  felt!     Upborne  by  thee, 
My  own  soul  calms  so  tender, 

It  drifts  on  airy  tides.     Ah,  me! 
My  tangled  veil  of  nightness, 

Beshadows  so  thy  brightness! 

What  magic  links  my  soul  with  thee? 

Humanity  was  made  of  man. 
Yet  flowers  enjoy  such  air  as  he, 

Love  sun,  and  sleep,  and  wake  their  span, 
And  then  bequeath  themselves  to  man. 

Though  of  the  dust,  they  soulfully 
Speak  volumes  to  humanity. 


16 


Tte 

Oh,  waves  that  trample  o'er  the  pathless  sea! 

What  magnet  draws  thy  foam-white  chargers  to  the 

shore, 
Then,   trips   each   sturdy  steed   that    dares   its   charm 

explore? 
As  if  some  jealous  gorgon  perilled  all  the  lea. 

Like  Phalanges  of  plumed  helmets  dip  and  rise — 
Waves  come  so  proudly  on,  but,  with  a  booming  call, 

They  stumble,  bow,  and  with  a  mighty  impulse  fall 
And  sink,  as  if  the  feet  that  tread  the  sea  despise 

The  land,  and  shrink  recoiling  from  the  barring  strand 
That  severs  turb'lent  waters  from  the  quiet  land. 


This  dear,  bright  day,  the  last  that  came 

From  out  the  golden  East! 
No  other  day  has  been  the  same; 

(To  me  unlike  at  least.) 
For  only  once  comes  love,  'tis  said, 

Lamps  lit  but  once,  to  watch  it,  dead. 

Love  gave,  today,  a  holy  name 

To  him  and  me,  for  life, 
A  sacred  name,  yet  not  the  same, 

His — husband,  mine  is  wife. 


Love  is  its  own  reward. 

It  thrives  on  its  own  living. 
If  spurned,  it  turns  toward 

A  more  abundant  giving. 

'Tis  fuel  of  its  own  fire, 
Child  of  its  own  begetting. 

It  is  its  own  desire. 
It  waxes  of  forgetting. 

Love  is  its  own  real  sorrow, 
And  is  its  own  real  joy. 

If  scorned  today — tomorrow 
'Tis  freer  from  alloy. 


T0 

The  stars  seem  to  peep  'neath  thy  bonnets  of  snow, 
The  sun  tans  thy  bare  shoulders  brown,  in  its  glow, 
The  green  ivy  vines  gird  each  rocky  elbow. 
In  the  wind  at  thy  feet  writhe  the  agonized  palm. 
But  thy  summits  seem  brooding  in  infinite  calm. 
A.nd  I  love,  love  you  so! 

Thou'rt  seldom  alone,  thy  three  handmaids  are  there, 
Either  trimming  thy  gown,  or  bedecking  thy  hair; 
Sweet  Sun,  Moon  and  Cloud — and  they  make  thee  most 

fair. 

Art  thou  reaching,  the  hand  of  Jehovah  to  touch? 
Like  me,  seeking  ever  His  fingers  to  clutch? 
Oh,  Thought,  Carrier  bird!     To  those  far  summits  fly! 
This  message  bear  nearer  to  God  upon  high. 
Oh  I  love,  love  them  so! 

18 


Shut  behind  the  flower  is  a  dim  unknown. 

Shut  behind  each  life  is  a  realm  our  own. 

As  the  wand  of  the  year  melts  the  winter's  snow, 

And  raps  for  the  flowers  to  waken — so 

Death's  wand  melts  our  faults,  and  triumphant  things, 

From  our  life's  unknown,  into  beauty  springs. 


When  we  travel  the  utmost  path  of  life, 

On  the  verge  of  its  farth'rest  boundary — 

By  our  side,  there  will  walk,  griefs  of  today; 

Like  a  ghost,  they  will  haunt  our  path  alway. 

And  the  tears  we  have  shed,  when  grief  lacked  speech 

(We  had  deemed  sunk  to  depths  no  time  could  reach) 

Will  come  back  to  the  heart,  and  never  fail 

To  bewail — for  despite  us,  griefs  prevail, 

For  of  death,  it  is  said,  'tis  but  the  lane 

That  must  lead  from  bad  dreams,  to  be  a  gain. 


Oh,  playmates  of  those  long-gone  years! 

Each  sunset,  clearer  the  past  appears. 
Years  brought  us  to  our  parted  ways. 

As  heedless  then  as  we  are  now  — 
We  failed  to  see  in  flower's  decay 

A  record  —  till  upon  our  brow 
Lines  came,  and  tallied  off  each  day. 

We've  found  no  hearts  the  wide  world  through 

Like  those  child-hearts,  so  fond  and  true. 
And  never  paths  so  smooth  and  cool 

As  those  in  which  we  loitered,  when 
We  wended  to  the  village  school; 

Hand  clasped  in  hand,  so  trustful  then  — 
The  memory  of  their  touch  endures. 

Oh  childhood!     Since  the  world  has  been 
No  man  has  found  such  faith  as  yours! 

Some,  early  left  life's  cank'rous  care, 

And  sought  for  comrades  "over  there"  — 
Escaped  temptations  and  regret. 

I  wonder  now,  if  those  who  fled 
Retain  that  old  child-sweetness  yet! 

If  so,  why  mourn  our  early  dead? 
Best  keep  our  soul  unsullied,  sweet  — 

Fit  playmate,  when  again  we  meet. 


Oh,  rose,  thou  lesson  of  the  dust! 
Thy  birth  is  dust's  forgetting. 
Thy  life—  God's  thought  in  setting. 
Thy  death  is  a  begetting 
Of  sweeter  roses  from  the  dust. 


20 


Will  man  some  day  subdue  the  clouds? 

And  conquer  the  whirlwind? 
Tame  the  sea,  and  torture  the  sky, 

Into  subjection  to  his  mind? 
Stili  the  wild  savagery  of  wars? 

That  Peace  may  dare 
Proclaim  the  millennium  here? 

Where  now  raves  tumults  shot  and  shell, 

Will  Peace  have  quiet  yet? 
Earth's  pain  bring  offspring  got  by  truth? 

And  man  bear  signet  of  the  sky — 
In  love  that  turns  earth's  grief  to  joy? 

As  strands  forgive  the  fret 
Of  ocean's  waves — will  love  forget? 


When  hope  falls,  drop  by  drop  away, 

And  reaching  out  our  empty  hand, 
We  find  no  hand  or  arm  to  stay, 

Nor  voice  to  cheer — but  silence  bland- 
We  weep  disconsolate.     At  length 

We  come  to  make  no  farther  moan; 
We  seek  no  more,  sustaining  strength. 

With  empty  hands  we  walk  alone! 


2  I 


kcm£  fnr 

Joy  will  clasp  thee  so  sudden  when  thy  spirit  is  calm, 
Thou'lt  refuse  that  its  yearning  shall  begirt  thee  like 

balm. 

Neither  wilt  thou  unbar  thy  shut  door  to  its  call 
For  the  sorrows,  that  shadow  and  darken  thy  hall. 


^ffinitg 

The  woodbine  is  blown  against  my  heart. 

My  spirit  is  touched  by  the  pine. 
The  silence  is  whisp'ring  my  soul, 

In  the  breath  of  the  eglantine. 

Beauty's  tendrils  have  blown  'gainst  my  heart, 
And  clung  by  their  coil-twining  tips, 

As  splendor  of  soul  speaks  to  soul, 
Or  like  touching  of  love's  sacred  lips. 


Tte  TOtul 

Oh,  wind  blow  on,  but  linger  as  you  pass! 

Kiss  this  willow  tree, 
For  she  is  softly  sighing  to  the  grass. 

Bowed  with  grief  is  she! 
Miguel  stands  cold  and  stern  beneath  your  kiss — 

(Fierce  mountains  those!) 
But  she  will  sweetly  lean  to  your  embrace, 

In  fond  repose. 
Your  kiss  has  stirred  to  anger's  wild  alarms 

The  restless  sea; 
But  she  will  softly  nestle  in  your  arms — 

Kiss  her  tenderly. 
2  2 


Thai  is 

"Tis  so  long  since  these  tresses  from  brown,  turned  to 

gray, 

And  with  life's  worn  out  wreckage  love  drifted  away! 
I  had  thought,  hand  in  hand  we  would  both  walk  alway 
Through  our  souls'  stilly  chambers,  well  knowing  our 

way. 

But  I  was  dreaming,  that  is  all! 

Though  my  soul's  hall  is  desolate,  memory  brings 
Cruel,  echoing  words  from  the  old  fondleings. 
And  if  ever  my  heart  of  love's  sweetnesses  sings, 
It  is  rankled  to  pain,  by  its  own  wakenings — 
But  I  was  dreaming,  that  is  all! 


Turn 

One  life  has  heard  dream-voices  calling, 
And  followed,  followed  where  they  led, 

Till  holy  dreams  came  falling,  falling 
In  show'ring  handfuls  on  my  head. 

One  life  is  homely,  poor  and  dreary, 
Is  purposeless,  shiftless  and  sad. 
So  desolate  and  vain  and  weary — 

A  life  at  best,  not  grand  or  glad. 

And  often  when  the  stars  were  gleaming, 

I,  tears  of  loneliness  have  shed; 
Then  dreams  came  flocking  'bout  me  seeming 

To  be  companions  from  the  dead. 

All  words,  though  sweet  with  magic  rhyming, 
Are  earthy  echoes.     Then,  can  mine — 

However  soft,  they  blend  in  chiming, 
Give  voice  to  dreamings  so  divine? 

23 


Qfassi  0f  (Mifnrttia 

Thy  waves  do  not  follow  the  wake  of  the  sun — 

They  eastward  are  led,  by  an  unseen  hand; 

Or,  riders  unseen  ride  with  unseen  reins 

And  mad,  reckless  spurs,  till  with  high,  arching  manes, 

Like  steeds  that  are  scared,  they  flee  swiftly  to  land. 

And  dash  on  the  rocks — yet,  they  all  understand, 

For  they  stop,  at  the  touch  of  the  bordering  strand. 


gnfinite 

Go  weeper,  "such  tears  only  weary  the  eyes  that  weep." 

Go  to  the  infinite  deep. 
If  you  wait  till  the  darkness  and  you  watch  alone — 

No  star  comforteth  thee 
As  does  the  wild  joy  of  the  disheveled  sea. 

There  comes  surcease  to  pain 
When  we  stand  with  our  grief  by  the  infinite  main — 

For  its  low  undertone 
Wafts  like  incense,  bemingling  our  pain  with  its  own. 

Let  thy  heart-longings  be 
The  prayer  of  it's  Priest,  at  its  altar — the  sea. 


A  holy  Presence  purifies 

The  heart  of  infancy- 
Time  strikes  the  hour  of  youth,  it  flies; 

And  if  it  ever  comes  again, 
It  comes  a  shadow,  or  in  sighs. 


White  clouds,  (in  whose  embrace  the  mountains  rest  in 

peace — ) 

So  like  the  mist  that  mem'ry  casts  about  our  dreams 
That  brood  in  fancy's  chambers,  till  their  presence  seems 
More  real  than  shadows  wand'ring  through  the  moun 
tain  gaps, 

To  melt  where  sunshine  sits  upon  the  summits  laps. 
No  longer  rock  the  pines  upon  the  mountain  height, 
There  Nature  slumbers,  wrapped  within    thy    ermine 
white. 


Wrfarrg 

Oh,  ring,  far  hymn  of  human  gladness! 

Blow  clarion  trumpets,  till  'tis  known 
That  love  shall  conquer  all  earth's  sadness! 

Blow,  till  love's  triumph  is  your  own! 
For  God  is  love,  and  it  must  be 

That  love  is  sure  of  victory. 

And  then,  all  hearts  shall  fill  with  beauty. 

And  then,  all  lips  shall  flow  with  song. 
Our  prompter  will  be  love,  not  duty. 

And  heaven  will  to  earth  belong — 
When  love  has  won  the  victory. 


Oh,  sunniest  sunset  of  sunny  days! 
Oh,  shadowy  world  of  purpling  haze! 
Fancy  sees  past  thy  crags  of  crimson  mist 

Heaven's  wide  open  door 
With  its  threshold  of  gold  and  amethyst, 
Where  our  lost  ones  shall  keep  love's  sacred  tryst. 

At  the  wide  open  door. 

When  earth's  tortuous  pathway  no  more  shall  bend 
Away  from  the  threshold  where  heartaches  end, 
Then,  'neath  sheltering  shade  of  yon  gold-spangled  sky, 
Like  the  low  bended  arch  of  a  vestibule  high 

Over  the  open  door — 

We  shall  know  the  return  of  our  unanswered  kiss, 
And  unheeded  embrace,  which  we  gave,  I  wiss, 
When  their  spirit  was  wending  the  pathway  from  this, 

Up  to  the  open  door. 

Oh,  symbolic  sunset!     Must  we  turn  away — 
That  last  solemn  sunset  of  life's  sanguine  day — 
If  our  God  given  spirit  shall  stand  beside 

The  wide-open  door, 

And  it  come  with  no  creed  of  the  earth,  to  guide 
It  through  heaven's  door,  standing  open  as  wide 

As  our  own  father's  door? 

Can  none  of  God's  household  reach  welcoming  hands, 
To  the  earth- weary  soul,  that  there  homelessly  stands 

At  the  wide-open  door? 


26 


"One  near  one  is  too  far." — Browning. 

As  mist  leaps  from  the  mountain  crag — 

Each  part  upholding  each — 
And  mingled,  floats,  nor,  seeks  to  drag 

Drop  near  to  drop — too  far 
To  be  united  into  one — 

So,  when  two  souls  dare  leap 
Into  unspanned  and  shoreless  space, 

Not  fearing  depths  too  deep — 
(Though  hand  had  never  made  the  place) 

How  like  the  mist  they  are — 
Not  wooed  or  wooing  souls — but  won, 

Not  soul  near  soul — too  far — 
But  one.     A  unison. 


When  your  soul  reads  to  you  out  of  Nature's  book, 
And  with  beauty  so  grand,  in  your  eyes  shall  look — 
Life  untangles  the  mystery  wove  in  its  chain, 
And  begirts  you  about,  like  a  silken  skein. 

When   the  flowers   touch   your  heart  with  their   own 

desires, 

And  on  hillsides  the  spring  hangs  her  quivering  fires — 
Then,  the  heart  is  bewildered,  like  streams  that  will 
To  flow  on,  but  at  clutch  of  the  frost  are  still. 

When  with  June's  perfumed  drap'ry  the  sunshine  wraps, 
And  the  fierce,  fretful  waves  on  the  shingle  raps — 
Then,  Nature  o'erpowers  with  a  sweet  surprise, 
Nor  chides  if  'tis  dreams,  or  'tis  tears,  dims  our  eyes. 

27 


Sxml-OTcrrtt 

The  poet  coaxes  his  soul  for  shadows, 

As  the  sky  coaxes  the  sea. 
For  God  decrees  that  a  new  creation. 

The  gift  of  the  souls  of  earth,  shall  be. 
The  world  created  shall  be  unnamed — 

Begot  of  the  atmosphere  of  God. 
Its  new-born  turf,  be  a  sward  reclaimed 

From  the  soul-side  of  the  sod. 
Instincts  of  Nature,  which  souls  have  tamed 

Will  people  the  wilderness, 
The  kiss  of  soul  that  quickens  the  leaf — 

(Like  fleets  of  raining  clouds 
At  anchor  above  arid  solitudes,) 

Will  stir  the  breast  of  the  barren  plain, 
Till  heard  beneath  are  pulsing  throbs 

Of  soul  a-tremble  with  eager  strain 
To  break  the  earthy,  curbing  rein. 

Now  souls  snatch  food  from  a  bitter  sea. 

Like  curlews,  they  gather  the  drift  of  waves. 
But  they  shall  feast  from  a  beauty  born 

In  the  fastness'  hush  of  the  soul's  new  morn. 

Now  souls  sound  ever  but  one,  low  note 
Of  song,  too  far  for  earth  to  hear. 

For  boundlessness  of  that  soul-world's  cheer, 
Would  blunt  the  pen  of  him,  who  wrote, 

And  madden  the  soul-deaf  ears  that  hear. 


28 


Harass! 

We  soon  shall  hear  the  wind  a-wrestling, 

With  the  rip'ning  sheaves. 
See  grapes,  like  babes  a-nestling 

To  the  bosom  of  the  leaves. 
Corn's  rusty  blades,  like  swords  a-clashing 

O'er  the  rusty  ears  beneath, 
Grown  russet  from  the  frost  a-splashing 

O'er  their  husked  and  tassled  sheath. 
What  though  the  husk  be  old  and  hoary — 

From  out  the  swaddling  sere — 
Just  like  the  magic  in  the  story 

Peeps  the  golden  ear. 


The  evening  bright  as  is  the  morning, 

That  day  is  best. 
With  myriad  ways  for  love  and  lorning, 

What  day  so  blessed? 
Going  out  of  my  heart  one  evening 

I  met  its  song. 
All  day  my  heart,  from  loss  and  grieving 

Had  been  made  strong. 
Since  then,  not  any  song  achieving, 

I  grope  along. 


29 


}0tt  in  grinfe 

Oh,  glory's  descending  gladness  come! 

Let  soul  speak  soul!     Let  the  soulful  seek! 
'Twould  hush  the  voice  of  cavil  dumb 

If  flesh  no  more,  for  soul  could  speak. 

With  deeper  meaning  roses  bloom 

Than  earth  has  fathomed  yet. 
Such  perfume  wrings  from  brake  and  broom 

As  ne'er  earth's  sunshine  shall  beget. 
The  sea  speaks  language  in  its  boom 

That  listening  souls  shall  ne'er  forget. 
Now  this  is  wisdom  and  not  doubt. 

'Tis  yielded  myst'ry  of  beings  soul, 
Whose  hidden  meaning  is  found  out. 

Soul  silence  broken  into  seeing, — 
Something  deeper,  brighter,  clearer, 

The  Soul  of  heaven  has  unveiled. 
Something  purer,  grander,  nearer, 

That  hungry  souls  have  sought  and  failed. 
Some  poet's  soul  shall  touch  its  key, 

And  sing  for  all  humanity. 
Yes,  more!     His  song  shall  be 

Re-echoed  down  eternity! 


Tte  TOiranttig  of  tte 

The  sea  leaps  up  with  gesture  strong  and  free, 
And  proudly  breakers  challenge  earth  and  sky. 

And  what  a  ghostly  moaning  haunts  the  sea, 
With  never-ending,  mournful,  moaning  cry 

That  moans  a  million  moans  continually! 

There  must  be  peril  on  this  unbound  sea, 
Whose  dyings  scare  the  quiet  air — nor  dies, 

But  moans,  and  moans  and  moans  continuously — 
As  if  to  fright  its  solitudes  by  cries, 

Yet  knows  no  language  for  its  misery. 

But  lift  on  high  thy  mournful,  moaning  voice, 
To  cloud  and  calm,  to  wind  and  sky,  and  star! 

For  songs  of  mirth  and  gladness  shall  rejoice 
All  spaces  where  no  madding  waters  are! 

There  Nature  laughs  and  sings  from  choice. 


Natures  Hurt 

The  tall  wheat  sighs,  perhaps  it  grieves 
The  coming  shears  among  its  sheaves. 
The  tree  shrinks  from  the  frost  that  cleaves 
The  stems  that  hold  it  near  its  leaves. 
Wind  sighs  if  rain  forget  to  come. 
Clouds  fade  if  thunder  will  be  dumb. 
When  Fall's  chilled  flowers  droop  and  pine, 
Then,  no  warm  sun  consents  to  shine. 


TOighig  Trarater 

Day,  from  the  dawn  to  sunset  steps, 
With  stride  that  spans  the  firmament. 
While  twilight  spreads  her  jeweled  tent, 
And  evening  is  her  peace  unfolding, 
The  Day  is  Night's  portierre  upholding, 
A  glorious  sunset  rushes  through, 
And  from  a  chalice  slowly  spills 
The  yellow  of  the  daffodils; 
Cloud-lances  pierce  the  golden  stain, 
And  from  the  wound  drips  crimson  rain, 
That  mingles  with  the  gray  and  blue 
And  purples  the  cerulean  hue. 
Night  hangs  her  crown  upon  the  air, 
Slowly  unbinds  her  ebon  hair. 
One  shoon,  she  rests  upon  the  West, 
One,  rends  the  train  of  Morning's  vest. 
Day  lifts  again  the  Night's  portierre, 
And  steps  resplendent  on  the  air. 
Time  speeds  these  mighty  travelers 
To  temples,  where  the  worshipers 
Are  mem'ries,  that  as  off 'rings,  cast 
Upon  the  altar — all  the  past. 


Spring 

The  spring  unfold's  the  thrush's  psalm, 
And  pats  the  earth  with  her  pretty  palm, 
Till  greenness  grows  and  flowers  unfold; 
The  roses  red,  the  daffodils  gold. 
Oh,  spring,  may  souls  that  you  have  blessed, 
Bloom  with  increasing  loveliness! 

32 


The  sun's  pink  skirt  trailed  o'er  the  sea, 

Up  to  the  waiting  West, 
Where,  pushing  back  the  clouds  to  see, 

She  signaled  earth,  "Now  Rest." 

She  gazed  on  high — each  look  a  kiss 
That  lit  which  star  caressed — 

Then,  balanced  o'er  night's  dark  abyss, 
She  signaled  earth,  "Now  Rest!" 

A  glory  veils  her  vesper  shrine, 

And  glows  along  the  West. 
She  shuts  her  window  curtains  to, 

And  signals  earth,  "Now  Rest!" 


Strto 

If  we  know  joy,  'tis  that  life's  grain 
We  rap  with  sickle  and  with  flail, 
And  brew  to  fill  the  holy  grail, 

Which  but  the  pure  in  heart  can  drain. 

By  tireless  wings,  larks  win  the  sky, 
And  conquer  misty  veils  of  haze. 
Then  climb  thy  soul's  high  stair  and  raise 

Thyself  to  heights  that  purify. 


33 


tight 

"There  is  light  which  lighteth  every  man  that  cometh  into  the  world.    If  there. 
fore  the  light  that  is  in  thee  is  darkness,  how  great  is  that  darkness." — Bible. 

Truth  may  be  slow,  but  never  yet,  was  led 
Into  the  darkness.     Light  forever  was  God's  bark 
To  bear  His  messenger,  the  Truth,  into  the  world 
To  pierce  the  darksome  folds  of  blinding  creeds 
O'er  human  eyes — strike  chains  from  human  souls, 
And  bind  with  healing,  hurts,  from  which  the  human 

bleeds! 

If  light  within  is  dark,  great  the  darkness  then, 
Although  'twas  spoken,  soul  light  lighteth  men. 

Oh,  Ignorance!     Untaught  by  Christ  of  God! 

'Tis  thou,  who  hold'st  thick,  distorting  veils  of  creed 

'Twixt  man  and  light!     Know  ye!     Truth  never,  never 

trod 

The  dark,  to  lift  God's  mainmast  torch — to  lead 
His  children  from  the  shadows  of  the  night! 
But  truth  that  flashes  from  His  bark's  resplendent  bow 
Illumines  souls  with  gleams  of  heaven's  light, 
Till  man,  his  altar  raises  in  her  prow. 

On  error's  sea,  God's  bark  will  never  ride, 

Its  foghorns  lift  no  midnight  from  our  sky; 

But  on  that  sea  of  blackness,  man  will  long  abide — 

Will  grope  about  for  many,  many  years, 

Till,  in  the  darkness,  generations  die — 

A  throng  so  grimed,  they  wash  not  by  their  tears. 

When  light  is  dark,  great  is  the  darkness  then, 

Although  'twas  spoken — soul  light  lighteth  men. 


34 


I  wish  I  might  dash  yonder  star  'gainst  this  town, 
Whose  sleepy,  old  windows  from  peaked  gables  look 

down! 

A  stump,  statue-like,  stands  beside  the  church  door 
Like  a  wrinkled,  old  veteran  standing  guard  evermore. 
If  tonight,  I  might  push  my  sad  thought  to  the  sky, 
And  like  song's  silv'ry  mist,  it  might  float  to  "Mori," 
She  would  know,  if  I  flee  from  this  primitive  spot, 
Though  her  grave  be  abandoned — I  never  forgot. 


Oh,  love,  thou  angel  of  the  skies! 

Hold  shading  hand  above  my  eyes, 

That  I  may  see  that  love  must  be 

The  boon  that  spans  my  destiny; 

For  human  hearts  where  love  abides 

Are  shrines  where  angels  fold  their  wings — 

More  hallowed  than  where  vesture  clings 

About  an  altar — more  beside 

Than  pomp  of  sacredotal  pride. 

More  sacred  than  where  sinners  kneel 

To  wait  the  touch  of  pardon's  seal. 

Creeds  rear  some  shrines.     L,ove's  altars  are 

'Neath  ev'ry  thatch,  in  ev'ry  star. 


35 


Tte 

Soul  has  no  speech — its  splendor  speaks 
In  soundless  waves  of  silence. 

That  mystic  tone  the  poet  seeks. 
Unspeaking  voice  of  silence! 

Oh,  splendor!     Oh,  eolian  strain! 

Oh,  strand  of  God's  own  being! 
I  can  not  braid  thy  airy  skein, 

Into  a  visible  seeing. 

Oh,  soul-trod  solitude,  where  none 
Intrude!     Where  spirit  splendor 

Unseen  and  voiceless  thrills  with  tone 
And  vision  mute  and  tender! 


Htm 

God  smiled  to  me  from  out  a  rose 

Beveiled  by  sheeny  dew. 
Sweet  tears  of  love  I  shed,  and  those 

Bedewed  the  roses  too. 

A  breath  like  heaven  o'er  them  blew: — 

His  own  went  up  to  Him, 
Love's  tears  were  more  to  Him,  though  few, 

Than  prayers  I  offered  Him. 

And  all  the  praising  hymns  I  sang — 

How  sounded  them  to  Him? 
Far  more  were  loving  tears  that  sprang 

Uubid,  for  love  of  Him. 


Ttert  Sixrrm 

Grief  had  long  watched  with  me.     Life  with  dark  hours 

was  hung 

When  that  storm,  its  last  lullaby  rain  song  had  sung, 
And   the   sun  wandered  forth,   'mid   the   gray,  cloudy 

arches, 

To  lold  rainbow  scarfs  'cross  the  sky's  broad  breast, 
And  with  torches  of  flame  smite  the  glowering  West 
To  give  glowing  ending:  to  that  wild  day. 
Then,  the  hills  seemed  to  whisper  to  me,  and  to  say, 
"As  yon,  far,  flute  notes  lean  on  the  bosom  of  night," 
And  float  o'er  the  waves  gathering  sweetness  in  flight — 
So,  thy  heart's  harp  should  glean  of  a  heavenly  gladness, 
Untouched  by  life's  storm,  its  darkness  or  sadness. 
Thy  soul's  corridors  touch  both  the  earth  and  the  sky, 
And  the  heart's  harp  attunes  with  the  one  nearer  by. 
Shall    the   discordant  storm-songs   of  earth   strike   its 

strings, 

That  it  vibrate  in  chord  with  the  discord  it  brings, 
And  reverberate  ever,  down  eternity's  aisle? 
Thou  hast  heaven  within  thee,  and  may  live  in  its  smile. 
And  with  low,  softened  notes  of  the  archangles'  lyres 
Tune  thy  soul's  song  in  unison  with  heavenly  choirs." 


This  luscious  fruit  has  wine  of  spring, 
And  summer's  spicy  offering, 
Concentrate  nectar  of  the  dew, 
And  sweet  of  Autumn's  proffering. 
Hail,  trees,  that  such  ambrosia  brew 
For  Christmas  wassailing! 


37 


Snug 

We  loved  on  the  shore  of  the  sounding  sea. 

And  forever  more, 

I  hear,  by  the  shore, 
"'Twas  with  love,  such  as  gods  loved — loved  I  thee!" 

You  died  when  our  love  was  fond  and  true — 

But,  Oh,  love  is  strong, 

To  sing  the  old  song, 
"With  a  love,  such  as  gods  love — love  I  you." 


Sxwl 

How  portray  the  blessed  sunshine, 

Or  the  perfume  of  the  spring, 
Or  the  hum  of  pines  in  winter, 

Or  the  song  the  starlings  sing. 
Each  has  every  sense  pervaded 

Ivike  the  subtle  touch  of  prayer; 
Yet,  the  tongue  is  mute — unaided, 

By  these  phantoms  of  the  air. 

Sounds  a  sacred  voice  in  silence 

And  the  soul  not  understand? 
There  are  keys  the  tone  attempted 

Spectral  chords  glide  from  our  hand. 
Smite  such  strings — there  steals  a  Presence, 

L,ike  our  shadow  on  the  sand, 
Though  it  leave  no  track  nor  tracings — 

Yet,  the  soul  can  understand. 


^ttatlB  in  (Soil's 

I  asked  a  sweet  flower  in  a  deep,  rocky  dell, 
Its  secret  of  beauty,  and  fragrance  and  bloom; 
Of  the  creak  and  the  jar  of  its  shuttle  and  loom. 
"Tis  recorded,"  it  said,  "and  the  record  should  tell." 

I  questioned  of  grandeur,  the  rocks  know  so  well. 
And  pleaded  of  thunder,  its  scroll  to  unroll. 
But  out  from  the  shadows,  the  same  answers  stole — 
"'Tis  recorded,"  they  said,  "and  the  records  will  tell." 

I  begged  both  the  stars  and  the  mountains  to  tell 
Of  space,  of  sublimity,  grandeur  and  might. 
In  concert  they  answered,  from  far,  rocky  height, 
<v'Tis  recorded,"  each  cried,  "and  the  records  will  tell." 

Again,  when  the  moon  cast  a  wierd,  mystic,  spell, 
I  asked  of  the  night,  for  its  myst'ry  profound. 
The  answer  came  back  in  a  soft,  soughing  sound, 
"'Tis  recorded,"  it  sighed,  "and  the  record  must  tell." 

I  asked  of  the  river,  of  dingle  and  fell, 

Of  the  trees,  and  the  leaves,  of  the  birds  and  the  bees, 

To  learn  of  the  spell,  cast  by  each  one  of  these. 

4"Tis  recorded,"  each  murmured,  "the  records  will  tell." 

I  asked  of  the  wind,  if  its  wrath  it  would  quell, 
And  tell  me  the  secret,  from  whence  comes  its  power. 
With  breath  laden  sweet  from  the  kiss  of  a  flower — 
"'Tis  recorded,"  it  lisped,  "and  the  record  shall  tell." 


39 


I  constantly  marveled  where  that  record  might  be. 
The  record!  The  record!  Was  my  soul's  ceaseless  shout, 
My  call  from  within,  went  to  deep  vasts  without, 
And  I  heard,  in  the  dark  my  soul  calling  to  me, 

As  if  a  dumb  chord  in  my  spirit  awoke 
Attuned  with  Jehovah — within  me  it  spoke. 
Its  tone  had  the  key  Nature  long  had  concealed, 
And  all  of  the  secrets  on  record  revealed. 

And  'twas  my  own  soul,  was  that  record  divine. 
The  same  echoes  fill  Nature's  soul,  as  fill  mine. 
Nor  question  I,  how — for  my  own  soul  compels 
Since  it  images  God — 'tis  His  record,  and  tells. 


Azrael  took  two  friends  one  day, 

Just  over  the  border  of  life, 
And  listened  to  hear  what  they  would  say. 

One  talked  of  love,  and  one  of  strife. 
One  told  of  earth's  sunshine  and  flowers. 

And  one  remembered  winter's  snow. 
And  one  earth's  many  joyful  hours, 

The  other  of  its  winds  that  blow. 
One  chose  to  dwell  in  heaven's  bowers, 

And  one  to  dwell  in  Hades  chose. 


40 


T0 

I  am  a  dullard  dreamer, 
But  of  thy  fullness  give. 

Without  thy  fount  I  perish, 
I  thirst — and  drinking,  live. 

How  love  a  world  like  this, 
Of  forlorn,  vacant  skies, 

Except  toil's  interstice 

You  touch  with  sweet  surprise? 

Oh,  flutter,  rhymes  divine, 
A  tremble  with  thy  breath — 

That  shall  be  thine  and  mine, 
Nor  such  as  withereth! 


Hopes  are  like  singing  birds  flying  springward, 

They  die  of  the  chill,  ebbing  cold. 
But  what  of  the  realm  lying  wingward, 

Where  hope  shot  its  arrows  of  gold? 

What  has  life  but  its  hopes,  (though  unspoken?) 
When  clouds  rob  our  sky  of  their  sun — 

Is  there  aught,  that  man's  life  has  so  broken? 
Oh,  heaven  is  heaven — with  one! 


Reach,  soul,  into  breath  of  the  rose! 

Reach  into  the  song  of  the  bird! 

And  the  hymns  which  the  sea  winds  have  stirred. 

For  there,  is  the  water  that  lives! 

Drink  deep  of  the  calm  which  it  gives. 

For  peace  of  the  water  is  thine 

That  flows  from  the  fountains  divine, 

Whose  water  eternally  lives. 

Oh,  heart  would'st  thou  know  wave's  emotion? 
Then  woo  thou  the  heart  of  the  ocean, — 
For  the  current  that  throbs  within  thee, 
Stirs  the  waves  of  the  blue,  pulsing  sea. 
Wouldst  thou  hear  why  the  rivulets  roll? 
Lean  thy  ear  close  against  Nature's  soul, — 
And  steadfast  as  stars,  then,  will  be 
Divine  truths  that  shall  whisper  to  thee. 


Life's  evening  falls. 
I  feel  the  twilight's  fingers  steal  in  mine, 

And  lead  me  with  a  gentle  hand 
Into  the  night,  where  shadows  twine 

Life's  shattered  wreck  upon  the  strand. 

Oh,  silent  night! 
Hope's  broidered  stars  that  on  thy  darkness  rest 

Are  beacon  lights  lit  by  faith's  hand, 
To  light  each  billow's  fleecy  crest 

That  bears  me  to  the  Silent  Land. 

Oh,  silent  path 
That  stretches  far  into  the  night,  where  rest 

Awaits  earth's  weary  ones,  in  sleep 
Which  Stygian's  roar  cannot  divest, 

Of  cradle  rest,  upon  Death's  letheed  deep! 

Oh,  peace  divine! 
Oh  peaceful  rest  upon  the  boatman's  breast, 

Where  tender  Death  has  laid  us  down, 
And  smiling  on  our  heaven-born  rest 

Placed  on  our  brow,  life's  purchased  crown! 


43 


®ur  HxrES  anil 


Hopes  and  dreams  haunt  life's  imminent  fate  to  gird 
With  sunshine  and  moonlight  its  unlimned  page  — 
Yet,  sorrow  will  come,  like  a  wild  sea  bird, 
With  wings  all  a-ruffle  with  an  impotent  rage  — 
For  as  sea  brings  its  drift  to  the  shingley  shore, 
So  the  years  strew  life's  edge  with  what  floatage  they 
bore. 

With  a  drip,  drip  in  silence,  life's  dark  drips  in  tears. 
For  as  rose  leaves  in  Autumn,  one  by  one,  flutter  down, 
So  do  we  drop  our  hopes  and  our  dreams  'long  the  years. 
How  like  stars  of  the  night,  which  fierce  tempests  dis 

crown, 
Are  the  hopes  that  have  shone,  a  bright  star  o'er  our 

life— 
They  too,  sink  in  life's  battle,  'neath  the  strength  of  the 

strife. 

Like  a  bow  Time  has  emptied  our  bright,  dream-filled 

quiver. 

As  he  emptied  all  hope  out  of  all  our  agosies; 
But  out  of  the  crypt  of  their  tomb,  the  Dream  -giver 
Resurrects  every  hope,  every  dream  it  encloses. 

In  "that  future"  hopes  wait,  and  the  dreams  we  have 

dreamed. 

Dead  days  bury  no  dead  in  the  past's  keyless  tomb, 
For   the   hopes   and   the   dreams,  with   which   human 

hearts  teemed 

Will  leap  into  being,  from  life's  travailing  womb  — 
Be  our  true,  risen  self  —  resurrected  and  real, 
And  "that  future"  be  either  our  woe  or  our  weal. 


44 


in  Autumn 

I  remember  a  forest,  where  the  leaves  drip  their  crim 
son  and  shine 

O'er  a  shadow-shorn  turf,  and  the  ivy  the  beeches  twine, 
But  the  shadows  fall  spare, 
Till  the  Autumn  comes  there, 

Then  the  scared  shadows  quiver,  when  sunlight  famil 
iarly  flings 

Its  presence  about  them,  and  each  day  more  caressingly 
clings. 

Myriad  birds,  each  one  taught  by  the  stress  of  a  strange 

desire, 

Sing  such  songs,  as  the  hush  of  the  solitude  shall  inspire. 
And  the  brave,  martyr  flowers, 
The  frost  aster,  still  towers 

Through  the  castaway  leaves  ol  the  beeches,   and  ma 
ples,  and  ash — 

For  neither  the  frost  nor  the  sleet  can  that  brave  bloom 
abash. 

When  like  wild,  prairie  campfires  and  torches,  the  bright 

stars  are  lit, 

And  the  moon,  like  a  crown  on  the  brow  of  the  mid 
night  sits, 

Or  wind  buffets  the  trees 
Till  they  sink  to  their  knees, 
Like  a  scared  heathen  kneeling  to  worship  his  God  of 

the  gale — 

Then,  I  think  of  that  wood  where  the  beechnuts,  and 
berries  and  quail 

Were  the  Father's  and  mine, 
In  childhood's  lang  syne. 


45 


Aeons  of  thought  may  perch  upon  yon  stars, 

Or  soar  yon  hollow  fields  of  air — 
But  sleep's  enchantment  fills  this  silent  space. 
When  folds  of  midnight  are  unfurled 

Above  the  silv'ry  carpet  of  this  place — 
The  dazzling  quiv'rings  upward  hurled — 

Not  even  night  can  dim,  for  crazing  glare 
Falls  'bout  the  cactus  ev'rywhere; 

Glist'ning  sometimes,  so  shadowless  and  bland, 
Then,  wind,  once  tumbling  'mongst  the  pines, 

Comes  fi'ry  hot,  and  lade  with  hotter  sand, — 
Now,  woe  the  wand'rer  past  the  lines.* 

Brain  reels,  thirst  burns  his  vitals,  and  he  dies; — 
Within  the  desert's  yawning  caught 

Betwixt  the  glaring  sand  and  glow'ring  skies. 


When  Time  shall  clip  the  thrums  within  my  loom  of  life, 

And  drop  my  finished  weft  upon  the  sand — 

If  one  shall  come,  my  weft  as  legacy  to  claim, 

I  am  content;  for  if,  with  silken  strand 

His  broid'ry  make  it  beautiful,  I'll  not  repine, 

E'en  though  the  warp,  and  woof,  and  weave  were  mine. 


*  Posts  have  been  set  on  the  desert  from  one  water  hole  to  the  next,  to  guide 
the  traveler. 

46 


I'll  loose  me  a  Paradise-bird  to  sing, 
Perhaps,  winter's  storms  will  remit  excess. 
And,  thou,  lovely  trees,  hilly  slopes  bring  spring! 
Say  yes!     Say  yes! 

I'll  loose  me  a  Paradise-bird  to  sing, 
There's  no  heart  in  the  spring,  nor  in  anything. 
Mayhap  he  will  bring  me  offering! 
Say  yes!     Say  yes! 

I  loosed  me  a  Paradise-bird.     It  sang. 
The  winter  soon  fled,  and  the  spring's  emptiness 
Was  filled  with  a  sunshine  that  jubilant  rang 
With  yes!     Oh,  yes! 


(Sitting 

Heaven's  gifts  are  bestrewn  with  a  lavish  hand — 
All  unheeding  to  whom  any  gift  shall  fall. 
Oh,  then  scatter  thy  gifts  over  all  the  land; — 
Fondest  words,  sweetest  smiles,  thy  best  thought — give 

all. 

Give  them  free,  as  is  sunshine,  and  never  know 
If  thy  gift  fall  to  friend,  or  it  fall  to  foe. 


47 


Natures  S0ul  F0und  anil 

Thy  way  was  trackless,  yet,  I  found  thee, 
Thy  voice  was  dumb,  yet,  now,  around  me 

The  silences  articulate 
With  messages  of  sky  and  rose, 
And  all  the  things  the  green  grass  knows — 

Until  my  soul  eliminates 
The  grossness  from  within  life's  mystery, 
And  feels  the  thrill  of  heaven's  felicity. 

Poor  soul!     Today  by  inspiration  fed, 
Tomorrow  by  temptation  led — 

For  if  she  but  gesticulate 
That  I  go  down  broad  ways,  that  sorrow, 
I  seek  no  trackless  way  tomorrow 
To  hear  the  things  the  green  grass  knows, 
Or  messages  from  sky  and  rose. 


She  reaches  empty  hands  for  love. 

They  empty  close. 
More  than  her  own  heart  sings  of  love 

She  never  knows. 


The  waves  caress  the  lonely  isles. 
The  bird's  song  cheers  the  forest's  aisles. 
Lone  deserts  know  the  flowers'  smiles. 
For  Nature  loves  'mid  loneliness. 

Each  soul  comes  into  life  alone, 
Alone  it  lives,  to  all  unknown. 
Alone  it  goes,  when  life  has  flown. 
It  lived  its  love  in  loneliness. 

Though  springtime  died,  did  vi'lets  know 
Their  doom  of  winter  'neath  the  snow? 
What  means  their  solitude  below, 
But,  that  love  shares  their  loneliness? 

How  human  hearts  in  darkness  cling 
To  love's  dark  lattice,  tho'  it  outward  swing- 
When  waiting,  more  than  love  would  bring 
In  dreams  of  love,  when  loneliest. 


What  a  great,  grand  voice  have  the  waves  for  me. 

It  seems  God  speaks  of  Himself  in  the  sea. 

Can  I  interpret  its  language  right, 

With  my  soul  untuned  with  its  utterance  quite? 

Yet  the  smallest  wave  knows  the  mystery 

In  the  great,  grand  voice  of  the  wave-torn  sea. 


49 


Trust  |n  <5arf 

I  trust  Him  with  my  human  soul. 
Enough  that  He  has  held  it  once, 
And  looked  upon  it  as  His  child; 
And  when  no  more  this  urn  shall  hold 
It  safe — His  arm  again  will  fold 
With  love  about  its  nakedness. 
His  father  heart  with  joy  will  bless 
His  prodigal's  return,  and  when 
With  love  my  hungry  soul  is  filled — 
And  Heaven's  lullaby  has  stilled 
My  earth-tossed  weariness — I  then, 
Shall  know  love's  longed-for  tenderness. 


The  mountains  knew  thee  as  a  cloud 
That  o'er  their  summits  meekly  bowed, 

O  proud,  proud  sea! 
And  once  thou  wert  a  lowly  brook, 

O  proud  sea! 

E'en  meadows  knew  thee,  in  their  dew, 
And  thunder,  in  the  rain-drop's  quiver, 

O  proud  sea! 

The  seasons  are  acquaint  with  you, 
As  is  the  humble,  flowing  river, 

O  proud  sea! 

The  springs  gave  you  their  waters  too, 
To  swell  your  tides  contentious  blue, 

O  proud,  proud  sea! 


in  CM0ra;d0 

Snow  covers  the  slopes  by  the  shrubby  oaks  heathered. 
Where  the  pine  trees  are  standing,  all  whitely  frost- 
feathered. 

Ghostly  trees,  ghostly  shrubs  standing  closely  together 
In  the  magical  scene  of  the  Autumn-time  weather. 

Bright  arrows  of  light,  shot  from  morn's  golden  quiver 
Have  set  the  frost  diamonds  on  the  boughs  all  ashiver ; 

All  the  white  branches  glisten  like  a  mane  spun  of  fire. 
Heaven's  rivers  of  beauty  seem  emptied  entire. 

And  when  moonlight  drips  silvery  drops  o'er  the  hills, 
'Tis  a  heaven  made  real.     Purest  whiteness  so  fills 

All  spaces  except  the  cerulean  air. 

Frost-purified  earth!   Indeed  thou  art  fair! 


^Bailing. 

As  darkness  loves  to  linger  near  the  casement  damp — 
To  enter  when,  she  shall  extinguish  her  bright  lamp — 
So,  does  my  love,  by  her  heart's  lattice  wait  and  wait 
For  sign,  that  I  may  enter  through  its  unbarred  gate. 


As  sweet  today  are  meadow  brooks, 
As  when,  for  me,  their  song  was  young; 

And  Nature  now,  no  older  looks 
Than  when,  for  me,  that  song  was  sung. 

And  yet,  today,  life's  idle  oars 
No  longer  in  their  rowlocks  ride, 

But  worn  by  sands  of  shoals  and  shores, 
They  both  lie  folded  side  by  side. 

God  rowed  my  bark  ere  tern  pest- torn, 
And  still  He  guides  its  prow; 

And  though  the  rowlocks  are  outworn, 
He  rowed  no  better  then  than  now. 


Things 

Pretty  baby-eyed  blooms,  leaning  cheeks  'gainst  the  sun! 

Of  its  tint  and  its  love  all  thy  petals  were  spun. 

A.nd  the   thread   of  the   sunshine  thy   dainty   stripes 

weaves, 

And  the  heart  of  the  summer  is  a-tangle  thy  leaves. 
Thy  perfume,  heaven  winged,    my   heart's   altar   o'er- 

wreathes; 

And  the  purer  the  prayer  the  heart's  purity  breathes, 
The  more,  thy  perfume  seems  true  incense  of  prayer, 
And  thou,  the  true  censer  God  swings  in  the  the  air. 


Oh,  be  reconciled  at  eve, 
With  thy  dark,  dark  day! 
When  the  moon  reaches  down 
Her  golden  crown, 
And  the  lily  from  her  cup 
Pours  the  perfume  away — 
Say,  "'Twas  dark" — but  believe 
The  sun  shone  bright  alway. 

Oh,  be  reconciled  at  morn, 
With  thy  dark,  dark  night! 
When  the  sun  reaches  down 
His  silv'ry  sheen, 
And  the  flowers  lend  their  glow 
To  make  sunshine  more  bright — 
Say,  "  'Twas  dark" — but  oh,  scorn 
To  think,  no  moon  shone  bright. 


One  tiny  blade  among  the  grasses 
Casts  but  a  feeble  shadow, 

And  counts  as  nothing  'mong  the  masses 
Abounding  in  the  meadow. 

But  when  the  wind  the  meadow  lashes 
Into  green,  grassy  billows, 

They  blend  their  blades  and  though  rain  dashes, 
Stand  sturdy  as  the  willows. 


53 


gtmcrratirrn 

Soul  of  Nature,  once  thy  silence  breaking, 
Yield  unto  my  soul's  far  seeing, 

The  deep,  deep  myst'ry  of  thy  being. 
Tell  me  all  thy  highest  meaning, 

While  my  soul  on  thee  is  leaning. 

Though  no  prayer  I  was  intending, 
Something  sweeter  with  my  soul  is  blending. 

I  know  the  reason;  I  am  learning 
In  answer  to  my  spirit's  yearning. 

Like  a  child  I  am  now  kneeling 
At  the  Master's  feet,  and  feeling, 

He  read  the  soul  of  rose  and  lily, 
While  I  read  Nature's  soul  so  illy. 


If  thy  heart  beat  slow  of  sorrow, 
If  thy  grief  to  tears  compel — 

Then,  remember — (Oh,  tomorrow!) 
That  tomorrow,  all  is  well. 


54 


O,  Duty,  slacker  knit  thy  chain 
That  tethers  well  my  wayward  will! 

Life's  bord'ring  edge  is  turning  gray, 
Its  fertile  fields  are  sheafless  still. 

Oh,  must  I  alway  hear  the  waves 

A-beating  on  a  phantom  shore? 
A  heart  have  I,  but  hearts  are  graves, 

If  hopes  they  hold  can  never  soar! 

While  list'ning  distant  breakers  hum, 
Through  nights  so  dark,  and  days  so  drear- 

I've  waited  for  my  own  to  come; 
But  not  a  reaching  hand  came  near. 

Now,  'long  my  West,  life's  short  day  fades, 
Yet  duty's  chain  still  braids  and  braids! 


8n  The  West 

Where  glory  streaks  the  evening's  gray, 
Hand  clasped  in  hand,  stand  Night  and  Day. 
The  distant  stars,  God's  diamonds,  fit 
Into  the  dome  and  jewel  it; 
And  fling  their  radience  sparkling  back, 
That  evening's  beauty  has  no  lack. 


55 


Tte  Far 

Sometimes  in  our  wanderings  hither  and  hence, 
Something  draws   back   the  curtain  'twixt   body    and 

sense; 

Through  the  rift  comes  grand,  body  less  glories  afloat, 
And  our  soul  sails  away  in  the  phantom-winged  boat — 
Past  the  arch  of  the  earth,  to  a  mystic  beyond, 
Where  air  pulses  with  beauty  of  infinite  song; 
To  the  lands  bordering  that,  which  to  spirits  belong. 


A  deep,  mysterious  sense  of  comfort  comes  sometimes, 

And  all  the  joys  of  the  glad  bent  skies  are  mine, 
And  my  own  songs  with  Nature's  rythm  rhymes 

And  burns,  and  throbs,  and  thrills  till  I  resign 
Myself,  to  the  blissful  presence  of  content, 

And  peace,  and  trust  in  the  Omnipotent. 
Again  I  walk  alone  and  lonely  in  life's  gloam. 

I  walk  from  tranquil  stillness  into  roar 
Of  winds  that  howl  o'er  hopes  in  tattered  foam. 

Yon  mountain's  reach,  that  touched  God's  sky  before 
Seems  sunken  now  'neath  burd'ning  clouds— and  yet 

I  know,  God's  touch,  they  never  can  forget. 


The  Morning  has  shorn  the  dark  locks  of  the  night, 
And  her  own  yellow  tresses  are  now  floating  proud 
From  the  mountains'  far  summits,  and  blackness  melts 

slow 
Down  their  slopes,  as  if  furrows  of  sunshine  she  plowed. 

Downy  tog,  that  so  wearily  leaned  on  the  sea, 
She  is  lifting,  for  place  for  her  gold  to  drip  down. 
That  a  girdle  of  yellow  translucence  may  be 
Stretched  across  the  wide  sea  to  embellish  earth's  gown. 

Trembling  dewdrops  that  melted  in  perfume  of  flowers, 
Stroll  with  morn  through  my  window,  while  birds  and 

the  bees 

Blend  a  murmur  and  song,  like  eolian  showers, 
With  the  laugh  of  the  poplars,  at  the  kiss  of  the  breeze. 


No  pleasure  is  lasting — no  never! 

The  rose  and  the  thorn  have  one  stem, 
The  thorn  will  remain  there  forever — 

The  roses — Well,  what  blighted  them? 


57 


gasler 

Spring  lays  hold  of  the  bare,  brown  boughs  of  the  trees, 

And  there  quivers  within  them  a  keen  desire. 

The  sun's  driven  sheen  stirs  the  naked  hills, 

Till  there  throbs  'neath  their  bosoms  a  pulse  of  fire. 

Where  were  snugly  tucked  blanket  of  winter's  beds, 

The  daffodils  toss  their  tousled  heads. 

And  the  trifling  bees,  with  their  humming  tease 

Betoken  the  coming  of  more  than  these. 


How  can  we  ever  hope  to  braid 

Life's  ravelly  tangles  in  a  skein? 
How  can  the  strands  be  straightly  laid? 

I  can  not  see  a  method  plain, 

Can  you? 
How  can  I  weave  life's  broken  strings — 

So  dimmed  by  fade,  and  soil,  and  strife, 
Into  a  token,  such  as  brings 

Reward  into  a  future  life? 
Can  you? 


Tte  Bird 

Oh,   little,  blithsome  bird,  why  balanced  whir-r-r   thy 

wings. 

As  if  you,  dreading,  poised  above  a  waiting  grave? 
Or  did  you  hear  afar,  some  new,  sweet  song,  that  brings 
To  you  such  sudden  rapture,  that  spellbound  thou'rt 

list'ning? 

Or  did  some  old-time  sorrow  whelm  you  'neath  its  wave? 
Or  did  you  see  your  weary  fledgling  fluttering 
Upon  a  distant  treetop,  where  he  pants  and  clings? 
Or,  heard  you  echoes,  where  to  me  broods  only  silence? — 
A.nd,  balanced  on  its  current,  you  are  lis'ning  now 
To  what  Jehovah  speaks  to  tell  you  when,  or  how, 
You  can  escape  the  coming  North  wind's  violence? 


I  miss  her  touching  hand. 
But  wires  vibrate  with  love 

From  soul  to  soul, 

From  strand  to  strand, 
Across  the  narrow  shoal 

'Twixt  land  and  land, 

'Twixt  scroll  and  scroll, 

Unwinding  here  to  wind  above, 
And  bring  to  each  her  meed  of  love. 


59 


Silence  edges  the  Spring  with  the  gay  daffodils, 
Silence  broiders  the  Summer  with  blossoming  hills, 
With  its  dreams,  silence  all  the  Autumn  air  thrills, 
And  it  fringes  the  Winter  with  icicle  frills. 

So  I  pity  the  man  whose  soul  loses  its  battle, 
And  he  likens  himself  to  the  "dumb,  driven  cattle." — 
For  his  life  has  no  song,  but  his  yoke's  dismal  rattle, 
And  he  hears,  in  the   silence,  nothing  speak — hence, 
his  prattle. 

His  own  soul  he  has   chained,  and  has  drugged  it  to 

sleep. 

Oh,  unlock  its  shut  door,  and  its  lattice  unbar — 
For  as  heart  speaks  to  heart,  and  the  deep  calleth  deep — 
So,  all  souls,  though  embodied,  of  the  silences  are. 
If  of  fountains  of  joy  our  earth  life  ever  sips, 
It  must  quaff  of  the  silence  with  spiritual  lips. 


No  branch  from  the  bough  is  torn, 

No  shoot  from  the  bush  is  shorn — 

But  Nature  each  leaflet  misses, 

And  heals  the  wound  with  kisses. 

Oh,  how  much  more  are  hearts  that  sorrow! 

So  God  will  heal  them  all  tomorrow. 


60 


©tttarin 

Oh,  aching  head!     Oh,  sleepless  eyes! 
Night  after  night  such  vigils  keeping! 
Would  I  once  more  know  calm  repose, 
Beside  a  lake,  where  mem'ry  hies — 
Where  childhood's  sleepy  hushabys 
Were  lulling  waves,  whose  slumb'rous  doze 
So  soothed  to  sleeping? 

This  calm,  still  night,  I  see  thee,  lake, 
As  if  you  rocked  yourself,  while  sleeping, 
Still  singing  sleepy  lullabys, 
While  little,  lapping  wavelets  make 
Caressing  pats  upon  the  sand, 
So  like  fond  mother's  rockabys, 
To  soothe  to  sleeping. 

Would  now,  thy  murmur  bring  me  sleep? 
And  rob  my  slumber  of  its  sighing? 
Thy  waves,  my  life's  first  sound,  and  I 
Wish  that  it  be  the  last,  comes  creeping 
Into  my  dying  hour — that  I 
Then  hear  the  old,  old  cradle-by 
To  soothe  to  sleeping. 

As  stars  glance  upward  from  the  sea 
Through  waters  pacified  and  stilled; 
I  would  look  skyward,  and  there  see 
My  life  reflected  as  fulfilled. 
And  hear  waves  splashing  'gainst  the  quay, 
So  like  a  requiem  sung  for  me; 
To  soothe  my  sleeping. 


61 


Sweet  Lilac,  thy  perfume  has  lured 

My  past  to  backward  glide, 
And  youth,  returned  again,  has  moored 

Her  shallop  at  my  side. 

Stilled  voices  in  love-whispers  soft 

Leap  past  into  the  night. 
And  olden  dreams,  so  often  scoffed, 

Return  with  new  delight. 

I  sometimes  thought  death  would  unbar 

My  soul's  eternity — 
And  out  past  where  mock  shadows  are 

Youth's  presence  waited  me, — 

But  now  I  know  that  youth  has  stood 

In  hunger  on  life's  stair — 
That  sometime,  when  my  soul  was  still 

I'd  know  it  lingered  there, 

And  yearned  for  me,  as  I  have  yearned. 

(For  life  a  unit  is.) 
The  past,  that  robber  whom  I  spurned, 

Claims  not  my  youth  as  his. 


62 


ffe 

Oh,  blind,  blind  eyes,  that  cannot  see  till  washed  by 

tears! 
Oh,  hard,  hard   heart,  that  cannot    feel  till  smote  for 

years 

With  hammer  strokes  upon  God's  anvil — till  ye  know 
Earth's  weariness,  pain  and  care,  and  sorrow  as  your 

own; — 

That  all  the  human  heart  was  made  to  bear,  ye  know — 
Can  feel  another's  grief,  and  feel  the  sufferer's  throe — 
And  look  with  sympathy  into  the  eyes  that  weep — 
Have  pity  for  the  toiler,  for  tears  transgressors  reap — 
That  hearts  that  droop  of  famine,  hearts  that  loveless 

pine 
May   take   new  courage — finding   earth    has   love  like 

thine. 


Oh,  sweet,  sweet  flower! 
Of  every  soul  that  feels  thy  power 
A  soul  is  fitted  for  the  skies. 
For  he,  whose  eyes 
Companions  with  a  sky  or  star, 
And  comrades  with  the  sea  or  air — 
Heaven  has  for  him  no  lock  or  bar 
Anywhere. 


Sudden  S10rm 

See  what  a  mighty,  mighty  dream 
Now  stirs  the  ocean's  calm  repose! 
The  mutt'ring,  mocking  thunders  seem 
But  adding  anger  to  its  throes. 

The  winds  off  apple  blossoms  browse, 
The  writhing  boughs  their  mates  caress. 
The  low  of  frightened  mother  cows 
Is  wailing  with  the  ocean's  stress. 

Do  hear  the  dreary,  dreary  rain 
A-striving  'gainst  the  window  pane! 
And  see  how  high  the  billows  leap — 
They  sweep  the  clouds  off,  in  the  deep! 

The  forlorn  sky  finds  not  a  rift 
Through  which  the  sun  may  seep  or  sift, 
To  comfort  by  a  fond  caress 
The  roses  in  their  helplessness. 


Give  light  enough 
To  make  our  path  less  dark  and  rough; 

For  hearts  o'ertender 
Will  wither,  rifled  of  their  splendor 

By  the  dark. 
But  like  the  eagle,  outsoar  the  lark 

In  the  sun. 
Give  light,  and  heaven  will  be  won! 


64 


What  if  the  sun  would  seek  to  kiss  the  mountain  peaks, 
And  clasp  the  nestling  valleys  in  its  arms, 

And  mounting  high, 

And  coming  nigh, 
Be  driven  from  the  mountains  and  the  vale. 

Nor  love  for  it  abide 

In  all  the  world  beside — 

Think  you,  another  morn  would  e'er  be  known  to  trail, 
Its  loving  way,  all  beaming  up  to  mount  and  vale? 

What  if  the  leaves  ne'er  rustled  to  the  whisp'ring  breeze' 
And  flowers  blushed  no  more  at  coming  of  the  rain — 

Would  rain  or  breeze 

Come  still  to  these? 

If  heart  touch  heart,  and  love,  with  love's  response  is 
blent 

And  love  abide 

Time's  stress  and  tide — 
Give  hovel,  hut  or  palace — love  will  be  content. 


5J0U  Httri  g 

Love  braided  our  lives  as  closely  together 

As  oak  and  ivy  strand, 
Firmly  as  lichen  fits  its  fingers 

Into  the  granite's  sand. 


Oh,  morning! 
Thou  angel  of  rescue  from  direful  night! 

Thou  frighten'st  its  boding  and  gloom  away. 
We  watched  yonder  peak  for  thy  banner  bright* 

That  heralds  approach  of  the  coming  day. 

All  night  angry  thunder  has  beat  the  skies, 
And  roared  like  a  universe  touched  by  pain. 

We  knew  that  no  sky  of  its  ag'ny  dies, 
Thy  splendor  would  harness  the  earth  again, — 

That  these  nestling  hills  are  beneath  thy  care, 
Thy  sheltering  hands  o'er  the  lilies  bend, 

Thou  kneelest  wherever  the  vi'lets  are, 

Thy  sunshine  repairs  what  the  tempests  rend. 

Some  morning, 
L,ike  a  rescuing  angel  will  fright  the  night 

Called  life,  of  the  terrors,  which  darkness  brought 
And  wreathe  heaven's  promise  of  dazzling  light, 

About  all  the  havoc  its  night  storms  wrought. 


There  is  a  hurt  in  ev'ry  bliss, 
A  balm  and  grief  for  ev'ry  day, 
But  never-ending  truth  is  this — 
(As  I  believe  and  boldly  say) 
Soul  blooms  the  best  of  aching. 


66 


There  are  none  better,  higher,  greater  than   he,  who 

stands 

Past  heaven's  gate  among  God's  spirit  bands — 
Than  he,  who  had  on  earth,  with  lone,  unnoted  hands 
Fought  hard  against  the  hosts  of  earthy  greed  and  wrong. 
And  he,  in  heaven,  who  has  not  felt  the  stinging  lash 
That  stung  his  wearied  soul  with  welt  and  gash — 
Must  wait,  that  long,  eternal  ages  slowly  brood; 
To  know  such  glory,  as  is  born  in  souls  that  know 
The  lessons  learned  on  earth,  in  hours  of  grief  and  woe, — 
Such  hours,  as  those  Gethsemane  baptized  with  blood 
That  night,  when  rolled  above  the  Savior,   sanguine 

flood. 

Such  task  is  slowly  learned  in  heaven's  joy  may  be, 
But  'tis  the  glorious  riches  of  eternity. 


'Tis  said,  that  day  will  come,  indeed, 
As  surely  as  the  night  gives  need. 
Has  life  not  given  need  of  death? 
Indeed,  what  need  has  soul  of  breath? 
Soul  need  is  heaven.     A  need,  that  soon 
Or  late,  will  be  our  boon! 


He,  who  would  die  the  highest  death, 
Life's  lowly  rungs  must  climb. 

And  who  climbs  true, 

His  whole  life  through, 
Has  made  "his  life  sublime," 
And  hangs  upon  its  topmost  bar 
A  deathless,  guiding  star; — 

For  many  times 

Another  climbs, 
And  claims  a  star  is  his; 
And  rich  achievement  is. 

Then  follow  beck'ning  hope, 
You'll  touch  your  star. 
Nor  count  the  journey's  length, 
If  near  or  far. 


gttusirrns 

And  does  no  sweetness  drip  from  out  my  rhymes? 
Are  my  soul's  mighty  wanderings  vain? 
Does  life  possess  a  having  so  sublime, 
As  its  dear,  sweet  illusions? 

The  higher  flight  to  which  ideals  keep, 
The  harder  they,  to  reach  and  hold. 
But  oh,  'tis  hard,  off  skies  the  stars  to  sweep, 
And  find  them  sweet  illusions. 


68 


Childhood  scatters  the  strangest  magic  over  all  its  years. 

A  miracle  bides  with  all  its  eyes  have  rested  on. 

How  devoutly  the  aged,  to  it  memor'al  altar  rears — 

Not  to  mem'ry,  but  rev'rence  of  a  slain  child-hearted- 
ness — 

That  mystical  link  that  binds  the  child  to  the  Divine — 

That  snaps  at  the  touch  of  the  world,  as  lightning  blasts 
the  pine. 

Oh  Christ,  resurrect  our  Lazurus,  our  childheartedness, 

From  the  shield  of  its  shelt'ring  grave,  or  heaven  we 
have  lack! 

For  of  such  is  the  kingdom.  Give,  oh,  give  our  treas 
ure  back! — 

Our  child-heartedness,  slain  by  sword  of  worldliness. 


rrf  ^nxz 

May  the  night  never  come,  Love, 

When  it  shall  be, 
That  I  fall  asleep,  Love, 

Unloved  by  thee! 

Will  the  time  ever  come,  Love, 

When  Death  is  due — 
That  I  sleep  in  his  arms,  Love, 

Unloved  by  you? 


69 


SxroT,  ite  ^arBnt  nf 

I  would  not  rhyme  to  tell  my  art, 
But  wake  a  yearning  in  your  heart. 
The  heart  is  servant  of  the  soul, 
And  toils,  though  soul  be  sleeping. 
When  skies  their  broideries  unroll, 
And  clouds,  up  o'er  the  seas  are  peeping,- 
Like  a  gold  drop  dangling  from  the  stars 
The  moon,  its  silent  vigils  keeping — 
And  slowly  wavelets  maul  and  maul 
The  stretch  of  barren,  sandy  reaches  — 
'Tis  then,  earth's  wayward  loveliness — 
The  watching  heart  feels  none-the-less, 
Though  held  beneath  a  leash  and  bond — 
But,  wakes  its  Master — that  his  wand, 
By  mystic  genius  of  his  art, 
May  glorify  each  atom's  part — 
Perpetuate  by  verse  and  brush, 
The  mists  of  seas  and  forests'  hush. 


70 


Past  the  realm  where  creep  our  dreams  of  sleep. 
Past  the  farth'rest  bounderies  of  space 

Our  future  lies. 

As  the  hazy  mist,  that  leaps  a  precipice 
Seems  to  float  in  some  unseen  embrace 

And  upward  rise — 

So  life's  shadow  reaches  out  its  length  from  this, 
Like  a  vast  mirage  its  looms  in  space 

And  never  dies. 

It  was  pristine  man's  first  vision  rife  with  bliss: 
For  he  saw  his  heritage — to  trace 

Beyond  the  skies 

Subtle  truths  of  soul — nor  gave  he  armistice 
Till  his  searching  taught  the  human  race 

That  no  life  dies. 


TOtaett 

We  knew  just  where  the  vi'lets  grew 
Along  the  rim  of  the  pasture  wall — 
And  just  as  well  as  springtime  knew 
When  bits  of  sky,  the  sun  let  fall 
To  make  for  them  a  burnos  blue. 


NigW 

Last  night,  o'er  Autumn's  bounderies 

The  Summer  must  have  crossed — 
For,  'long  this  pathway's  broideries 

Frost  gleams  like  gems  embossed. 
Except  wind  winnows  out  the  frost, 

These  flowers  no  more  will  flare 
Their  glowing,  fi'ry  holocaust 

Upon  the  summer's  air. 
And  perfume  which  they  all  have  spilled, 

Which  west  wind  tossed  and  tossed 
Till  all  the  garden  paths  were  filled 

With  winnowed  fragrance — be  less 
A  memory  than  a  ministress. 

For  sunshine  here  had  sacred  shrine 
And  when  its  light  withdrew 

The  moonlight  walked  among  the  flowers 
And  sprinkled  holy  dew. 


Tiuxr 

When  shafts  of  shadows  fall 

Toward  the  eastern  sky, 
A  calm  comes  over  all, 

And  evening's  lullaby 
The  crickets  sing.     Then  Peace, 

Sleep's  subtle  soothing  flings 
Abroad,  till  men  forget 

That  gold  has  clipped  their  wings 
And  left  all  ills  that  fret, 

Left  them,  as  clods  of  mold, 
No  better  than  the  one 

That  hugs  the  undelved  gold 
Within  the  mountain  yet. 

But  had  man  fledged  his  gold 

With  love's  simplicity — 
His  soul  could  scarcely  hold 

Its  pure  felicity. 


Fantasy 

My  dreams  make  bright  life's  darkest  night, 

As  flowers  hide  graves  from  sight. 
My  sorrows  dream-kissed  one  by  one — 

Like  babes'  kissed  hurts  are  healed. 
When  tasks  of  weary  days  are  done, 

My  wings  to  phantoms  yield, 
And  lead  me  where  flights  of  illusions 

Are  vibrant  on  the  air; 
Nor  are  those,  darling,  sweet  delusions 

Dispelled  by  morrow's  care. 

73 


Tte 

Oh,  stars  that  swing  across  a  deep 

Profound,  unfathomed  and  unknown — 

Do  you,  athwart  the  welkin  sweep 
To  shine  for  earth  alone? 

Within  its  bottomless  abyss 
Silence  and  solitude  had  birth. 

No  myst'ry  so  profound  as  this 
Dismays  the  baffled  earth. 

Though  cloud  be  swinging  over  cloud, 

The  sun  omits  no  ray, 
But  piercing  chinks  of  solitude, 

Speed  silent,  on  its  way. 

How  still  the  night,  where  stars  and  moon 
Pose  at  the  mirror  of  the  sea — 

But  morning  aims  sure  arrows  soon, 
And  solitude  roams  free. 


74 


Tte  Waterfall 

Sometimes,  I  think  I  hear  an  elf, 
Who  laughs  and  sings  all  to  herself 

In  the  waterfall. 
Then,  too,  I  think  I  hear  a  kiss 
Flung  from  the  misty  precipice 

Of  the  waterfall. 

Or  hear  a  splashing  in  the  spray, 
As  if,  wind  romped  with  her,  and  they 

Whisk  the  waterfall. 
Or  hear  a  whistle  and  a  whiff, 
As  if  both  plunging  from  the  cliff 

Splash  the  waterfall. 


What  says  the  scythe  as  it  swings  through  the  clover? 
What  does  it  say  as  it  cuts,  passing  over? 
What  is  the  blade  to  the  tall  grasses  saying 
When  it  falls  shuddering,  toppling  and  swaying? 
This,  does  it  say?     "Fall  asleep,  for  so  passes 
Life  from  the  flowers,  the  grain,  and  the  grasses. 
Give,  to  the  earth,  earthy  herbage — its  dying 
Heaven  foredoomed,  yet,  the  law  'neath  it  lying, 
Fares  thee  rebirth— for  the  field's  life  of  verdure 
Shares  life  unending — nor  dies  of  the  scourger." 


75 


T0  Tte  Sxrol 

Go  soul,  and  float  on  seas  of  space 

Where  earth  and  heaven  interlace! 

There  learn  of  song  as  robins  do, 

To  thrill  with  opening  flowers  too. 

You  will  not  mine  for  gold,  earth's  schist, 

For  rubies,  nor  for  amethyst; 

And  if  I  hold  you  to  earth's  thrall. 

And  let  you  know  no  flight  at  all — 

As  perfume  of  the  urned  flowers 

Returns  no  more  at  springtime's  showers — 

Or,  as  the  riv'let  at  my  feet 

Becomes  no  river  bold  and  fleet 

If  hindered  on  its  willing  way 

From  joining  waiting  brooks,  till  they 

Have  harried  gateways  to  the  sea — 

To  there  sing  songs  unceasingly — 

So,  you  forego  your  native  bliss, 

And  fade,  if  bound  to  earth  like  this — 

So  go,  and  glow,  and  grow,  and  be 

I,  fitter  for  eternity. 


fitting 

All  soul  roots  in  one  living  spring. 
If  of  its  waters  we  would  drink, 
We  bend  beside  the  holy  brink, 
And  quaff  the  waters  as  they  flow. 
No  cup  called  creed,  the  water  dips 
To  bear  it  to  our  thirsting  lips; 
Each  soul  must  to  the  fountain  go, 
Dip  for  itself  the  sacred  flow. 

No  secret  guards  a  sacredness. 

Some  Moses,  yet,  will  smite  the  rock 

That  priests  have  sealed  with  creed-made  lock; 

And  man  will  then,  soul  purpose  know. 

No  more  athirst,  his  joy  will  leap 

Like  phosphor  light  upon  the  deep. 

Each  soul  will  to  its  fountain  go — 

Dip  for  itself,  its  sacred  flow. 


77 


I  am  praying, 

"Heaven  bless 

My  betraying 

Happiness," 

For,  'tis  the  sheaf,  whose  sowing 
Was  tears,  and  pain,  and  sorrow. 

Tears  for  sowing, 
Smiles  for  gain, 
Always  growing, 
Out  of  pain. 

Tears  for  seeding, 

Yielding  bloom, 

Heaven  meeding 

It  to  whom? 

Whoever  reaps  the  harvest  I  have  sown, — 
God  knows  the  highest  use  for  what  I've  grown; 

He  most  blesses, 

When  a  wrong 

None  redresses — 

Made  me  strong. 


Does  Autumn  care  that  the  brakes  are  brown? 
That  killing  frost,  ev'ry  night  sifts  down? 
Or  Winter  care  that  the  trees  are  bare, 
Or  dream  green  leaves  will  e'er  rustle  there? 
Spring  cares  that  flowers  live  'neath  the  snow, 
And  gives  them  welcome  again,  I  know — 
And  summer  shelters  them  'neath  her  wing 
Of  sunshine — loving  each  tiny  thing. 

78 


Sweet,  heaven-born  twins  were  Peace  and  Love, 

But  exiled  to  earth  to  dwell: 
Where  Age  chose  Peace,  and  Youth  chose  Love, 

And  they  were  parted — and  'twas  well. 

One  day  they  met  in  Youth's  bright  bower, 

And  quarreled  fast,  the  whole  day  through, 
And  vowed,  at  last,  that  from  that  hour 

They'd  tell  all  men  just  what  is  true — 
That  Youth,  and  Love,  and  Peace  weren't  meant 

To  hap'ly  dwell  together. 
Give  Age,  and  Peace  and  Love  one  tent, 

'Tis  all  they  need  forever. 


anxl 

Once,  to  the  coming  years  I  beckoned, 
And  counted  life  by  years  and  years. 

But  now,  by  days,  my  time  is  reckoned; 
With  much  to  do  as  Azrael  nears. 

So  much  to  do!     No  more  inquires 
My  heart's  old,  eager  questioning — 

Of  why  so  vain  the  heart's  desires — 
For  now,  in  calm  I  work  and  sing. 

I  quite  forget  youth's  splendor  dies, 

My  gathering  hands,  rose  thorns  have  vexed; 

I  only  know  I  emphasize 
The  rest  that  is  a-coming  next. 


79 


uf  Natters 

God  hears  the  laughter  of  His  rills, 
The  greetings  of  His  thousand  hills. 
To  Him  the  mountain  torrents  wild 
Make  answer,  like  a  little  child. 
What  answers  make  our  wayward  soul 
In  our  life's  river's  turb'lent  roll? 

For  stars  and  seasons  He  sets  tasks 
Which  each  performs,  nor  question  asks. 
We  scorn  life's  duties,  and  still  worse, 
We  call  its  stint  of  toil  a  curse. 
Our  lips  with  unction,  prayers  may  say, 
But  Nature  knows  best  prayers  to  pray. 


Srwl 

Strike  two  strings  of  the  viol  with  your  finger, 

Two  notes  will  be  blent  in  one  thrill; 

And  as  thrill  answers  thrill  in  the  viol, 

So,  soul  speaks  to  soul.     Flowers  still 

Speak — though  dead,  in  their  perfumes  that  linger. 

So  tuned  is  our  spirit's  own  cadence 

With  the  hush  in  the  dim  woods  replying — 

We  hear  in  its  audible  voices 

The  still  language  of  soul,  softly  sighing. 

The  harmonies  blending  in  silence 

We  may  hear  whisp'ring  low  in  the  thunder — 

In  sighs  of  the  seared  leaf  when  dying — 

And  replying  of  sweet  flowers  under. 


80 


The  "Still,  Small  Kaitt" 

Voice,  from  the  silences  come! 

Come  to  me  as  in  infancy's  dream. 
Love,  from  the  silences  come! 

And  if  not — be  thou  then,  mem'ry's  theme. 

For,  of  the  silence  I  came, 

And  'tis  voice  of  lost  kindred  I  seek, 
Soul — out  of  silence  I  came, 

And  to  me,  should  the  silences  speak, 

Out  of  the  silences  come! 

Come  to  me  in  a  voice  small  and  still. 
Voice  of  the  silences  come — 

Not  in  sound  to  the  ear — but  as  thrill. 

Out  of  the  silences  come! 

Come  to  me  in  thy  pure,  voiceless  speech. 
Soul  of  the  silences  come, 

And  again  of  the  silences  teach. 


TOmttatt's  flight  %n  Ttoe 

Should  the  highest  ideals  glow  like  stars  o'er  her  head, 
She  must  silently  toil,  looking  earthward  instead. 
If  she  hear  tones,  that  surely  are  seraphs'  own  lays 
Floating  upward  and  melting  in  evening's  haze — 
And  from  lingering  mist,  she  might  drag  out  the  songs, 
And  harness  each  strain  with  corporeal  thongs — 
That  others  might  hear  the  swift  vanishing  strain, 
And  perhags,  be  made  happy  again  and  again — 
She  may  grieve  the  lost  song — but,  not  be  erudite. 
She  may  say,  sweetly  say,  "Stars  are  comrades  tonight." 


81 


SnuT  TOedxted  far  the 

True  marriage  is  a  symbol  of  life.     Woman ,  (/#£  soul,)   man   (the  body,) 
untied,  are  one  life. 

We  cannot  scan  the  starry  depths, 

Or  see  the  ocean's  farther  shore, 
Nor  span  the  azure  firmament; 

And  yet,  soul  can  do  this  and  more — 
Can  make  of  stars,  safe  stepping  stones 

To  bridge  the  universe  above — 
Can  enter  to  a  heritage 

Of  peace  and  rest  in  heaven's  love. 
Not  knowing  death  or  orphanage, 

Yet,  lives  a  captive,  shut  by  bars. 
With  wings  undipped  by  pain  or  sleep, 

Forsakes  the  pathway  of  the  stars 
To  cherish  life — with  man  to  creep, 

And  keep  a  wedded  vow  to  life, 
Forsakes  a  heaven,  for  wedded  strife. 


Hidden 

We  never  know  the  perfume  hid 
Behind  the  rosebud's  closed  lips, 

Till,  as  a  rose  it  opes  in  smiles, 
And  blushes  to  its  petals'  tips. 

We  never  know,  if  love  be  shut 
Behind  a  cold  and  loveless  mein. 

Full  many  hearts  are  blooming — but 
They  bloom  'mid  desert  wastes  serene. 


82 


gn  NBW  |}0rk 

The  midnight's  sleet  had  frozen  fast; 

All  icy- white  the  landscape  lay; 
A  shower  of  glitt'ring  gems  was  cast 

From  morn's  first  sunbeams,  as  if  they 
Were  myriad  stars  the  sky  let  fall 

Upon  the  hills,  upon  the  leas, 
Upon  the  wood,  upon  the  wall — 

Till  shrubs  seemed  like  huge  crystal  seas, 
Whose  gleaming  crests  glint  most  of  all. 

And  all  the  ice-clad  willow  trees 
Became  a  jeweled  waterfall. 


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